


The Two Hounds in the Hollow

by Wolf_dog



Category: Sherlock Holmes (BBC)
Genre: Darklock (Dark Sherlock), John being pulled about, M/M, Mentions of previous sex, Peppermint, Roughness, Werewolf John, sex in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_dog/pseuds/Wolf_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Hound of Baskerville. John was a werewolf. Sherlock's werewolf, to be precise. John would do whatever Sherlock wanted him to, because he loved Sherlock, and he knew that Sherlock loved him too and would never intentionally put him in a potentionally harmful position. So, when a new case pops up, they go off to Baskerville to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off to Baskerville!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! This is my first fic on Archive of Our Own, so please be nice! It would mean the world to me if you comment or whatever to let me know if you like it, or any mistakes that you find! I don't have a Beta at the moment, so all mistakes are mine! Read, and hopefully enjoy! :)

John was a werewolf. He was Sherlock’s werewolf. It hadn’t taken John long to figure out that he was Sherlock’s. Ever since the 'Blind Banker' case, actually. Sherlock had been unusually patient in the time John had taken to figure it out, and John was glad for that. He was glad Sherlock had been kind enough to let him figure it out on his own. Sherlock cared about him, that’s why he waited for John to catch up. Sherlock would never let anyone hurt him, John knew that. He was always proud to show off Sherlock’s claim on him, and he knew Sherlock liked it too. That was why he wore the collar. It had been a gift from Sherlock on his birthday - about two weeks after he became Sherlock's properly. He was under no delusions as to what it meant - it claimed him as Sherlock's and Sherlock's only. Anyone who saw it would know. The collar expanded and contracted depending on which form he was in, so that it would not choke him. He didn't know where Sherlock had got it, but it was perfect. It was bright red, and had several loops on it, that were meant for leashes, but were mainly used because Sherlock liked tugging him around with it. The only time John was put on a leash was when he’d been bad, and he tried very hard not to be bad. He liked pleasing Sherlock. He’d kill for Sherlock (and had done so in the past) if it would please Sherlock. Sherlock protected John, and John protected Sherlock. If Sherlock deemed someone that needed to be killed, John had no qualms in killing them. After all, if it pleased Sherlock, he would do anything.

As they walked along, John glanced at the leash in Sherlock’s hand and hoped they wouldn’t need it today. They were on a case, and on their way to the train station. Something about footprints (John really wasn’t sure how that had interested Sherlock). They were going to Dartmoor. John had vaguely heard of the place, but he had never taken any interest in it. He was in his wolf form right now, because Sherlock wanted him in wolf form today, and John certainly wasn't going to object, and with his shaggy, fluffy blonde fur he could almost be mistaken for an oversized golden retriever, but with pointed ears. He had a suitcase handle in his mouth, his head tilted up to keep their suitcase from dragging on the ground. Sherlock wouldn’t like that. As they got into the station, he knew people were staring at him, but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was Sherlock. His tail wagged happily at the fact that both he and Sherlock were going on a case out of London together. It wasn't often that he and Sherlock went out of London, especially not to the country side. He might get a chance to stretch his legs out there! As they were about to board, the station master ran up to them, puffing slightly. “You can’t take pets on the train!” he protested. John didn’t look at him, instead staring up at Sherlock.

He was Sherlock’s. He didn’t want anyone else, and wouldn’t do anything to upset Sherlock. He kept his gaze riveted to Sherlock, watching as the consulting detective's gaze swept over the shorter, fatter, man. No wonder the station master was puffing, John thought idly without diverting his gaze, the man must be seriously overweight and didn't exercise much. Sherlock glanced down at John briefly, and John straightened, desperate to please Sherlock, and he saw a small flicker of a real, genuine smile on his face, before it disappeared and was replaced by a bright, fake one. "Don't worry," he assured the man in a smooth tone, John admiring the different personas he could pull off so well, "his fur will not cause any allergic reactions of any kind, he will not leave my side, and he will cause no trouble. He is remarkably well behaved - he will do anything I tell him to."

The man must have had a look of doubt on his face, and John felt a flash of anger that someone would dare not believe the word of his master, because Sherlock sighed. John's anger must have showed, because Sherlock placed a hand on his head, and John's eyes half-closed, the tension vanishing from him instantly as he tilted his head subtly into Sherlock's touch. He heard Sherlock sigh impatiently. "Drop the case," he snapped sharply, and John instantly bent his head to place the suitcase quickly, but neatly, on the ground. Ears pricked, he waited for his next instruction. Without warning (and, he supposed that was the point), two of Sherlock's long fingers slipped under a loop and tugged him up harshly. John went with it, rearing up on his back legs. He loved this. He loved being showed off, it meant Sherlock was proud of him. It was better than being ignored when people came over. He loved the roughness too, even if this position was making his arse ache even more from where Sherlock had taken him roughly the night before. It was a good ache, though, so he let it be. He heard the startled intake of breath from the station master, and heard him shift slightly, obvious thinking that John would lash out. "See?" Sherlock said smoothly, guiding John back to the ground and patting his head. "There's nothing to worry about."

He heard the station master agree, obvious shock in his murmured tone as he turned and stumbled away. With a gesture from Sherlock, John picked up the suitcase again and followed him onto the train without any more trouble. They had booked a private compartment for themselves (which came with a single bed because the trip went on through the night) and John was glad. He liked being alone with Sherlock, it was nice. And he knew Sherlock didn't like being forced to be surrounded by 'idiots' as he called them. As soon as they were in their compartment, Sherlock immediately went and flopped on his back on the bed, toeing off his shoes and closing his eyes, bringing his hands up in his prayer position. John gently nosed the door shut, and turned to look at Sherlock, his tail wagging at the sight. He liked seeing Sherlock relaxed. He liked seeing Sherlock in any good mood, actually. Without opening his eyes Sherlock murmured softly, waving a hand about vaguely, "Just put the case by the door, we won't be needing it for the trip - thanks to the ridiculously expensive price of the train, the food is complimentary."

John placed the case beside the door, nudging it to make it look neat and tidy, so that Sherlock would be pleased, and turned and started to head over to Sherlock. "Up," Sherlock commanded, patting the bed on the side farthest from John and the door.

John leapt from where he was, easily clearing it, but overshooting a bit far, and landed a bit too close to the wall for comfort. He made his way carefully over to Sherlock, and lay down at his side, his fur lightly brushing against Sherlock's side. A hand came up and lightly scratched at the fur on the back of John's neck, causing him to purr in pleasure, his tail thumping lightly against the sheets. "You're such a good wolf, John," Sherlock murmured softly, causing John to fill with a warm happiness at the praise. "And you'll always be mine, won't you?" Sherlock asked in the same soft tone, his hand coming up to tug affectionately at one of the loops on the collar.

John nodded his head reverently. Always. Now that he was Sherlock's, he had no intentions of ever leaving.

"And you'll never leave?" Sherlock asked, hand smoothing away from John's collar to lightly scratch his neck again. John nodded his head with the same fevor. Never.

"And you love me?" Sherlock persisted softly, and hand coming up to tilt John's chin to face Sherlock, who opened his eyes to meet John's gaze.

John gave a soft wolfy smile and nodded, stretching his neck forward to gently nose Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock gave a smile, turning his head to lightly kiss John's nose before resting his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes. The gentle and the rough, John cherished both sides of affection from Sherlock. "Sleep now, my John. I need you fully rested," Sherlock commanded him softly, a trace of a smile in his tone.

John closed his eyes obediently, and slipped into sleep - because Sherlock wanted him to. And he'd do whatever Sherlock wanted.

* * *

John woke as he felt the train slowly down, ears pricked for a moment as he listened for anything that might be considered a threat. Once convinced there was nothing besides him and Sherlock, he slowly opened his eyes, immediately looking at Sherlock, who was looking up at the ceiling, frowning in thought as he idly stroked John's fur. One of the first things he had leant about Sherlock when he became his, was that Sherlock liked his fur. Sherlock liked his wolf form, but also liked his human form. John didn't really care which one he was in, as long as it made Sherlock happy. Sherlock seemed to particularly like both his fur and his hair - but he had more fur than hair, so it was easier to just be in wolf form. He would run his fingers through it, almost absently, while he was thinking. Completely relaxed under his touch, John kept his eyes open and watched Sherlock's face as the consulting detective thought. When Sherlock came out of his thoughts, it was most likely only because the train had stopped. A glance out the window by John told him that it was early morning.

He looked back over at Sherlock and found the detective watching him. He tilted his head to the side in question, and Sherlock traced a finger over his collar. John waited. "Human, today, I think," Sherlock said after a pause.

Immediately, John turned into human, wearing nothing but the red pants he knew Sherlock liked. That was why he wore them. They looked ridiculous, really, but Sherlock seemed to like them, so he had made sure to buy a whole boxful, and wore them whenever he could. As a werewolf, he could will clothes onto himself whenever he wished, but he knew Sherlock liked him in almost nothing, so he usually didn't bother. For a moment, Sherlock smiled, before he tugged John closer by his collar and demanded, "Tell me."

"I love you, Sherlock," John said without hesitation, warmth and love in his tone. This was normal, for them. Each morning, they did this - no exceptions.

"And?" Sherlock prompted.

"I'm yours, Sherlock. I will always be yours. I will always be loyal to you and only you. I will do whatever you want me to, because you will never intentionally place me in a dangerous situation, and you always do what you believe to be right. I will protect you with my life, Sherlock," John recited, emotion in every word. Just because he said it every day didn't make it any less true.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, a smile curling his lips. Then, he rolled out of bed and stood, turning to run a hand through John's hair. "Good boy," he said softly, and John closed his eyes to enjoy it, knowing that all the tender affection would be gone as soon as they got off the train - or, even before that. Already, John could see Sherlock going into what he called 'case mode'.

Getting off of the bed, John stretched the sleep from his body. "Clothes, John," Sherlock snapped.

Ah, right. Sherlock was possessive on the best of days. He did not like people seeing what was only for his eyes, or taking things that was his. On a bad day, Sherlock could turn murderous. Closing his eyes for a moment, John willed the clothes on his body, then opened his eyes and looked questioning at Sherlock. He received a curt nod. Some days, Sherlock was picky about what he wore - or, more accurately, how many _layers_ he wore - apparently, today was not one of those days. John padded over to their suitcase and bent to pick it up. As soon as his hand had a firm grip on the handle, there was a body pressed tightly against his, and John instantly recognised the hard warmth of Sherlock. There was a rough jerk on his collar, pulling him upright against Sherlock's body. “You’re mine, John,” Sherlock said softly in a menacing voice, causing John to shiver slightly, Sherlock’s mouth was right beside his ear, and he could feel his lips brushing against his ear at each word. The pressure of his collar against his throat was firm, but carefully not painful. “If anyone tries to take you away from me, you _will_ tell me _immediately_. If anyone tries to _flirt_ with you, you _will_ tell me. If anyone even _suggests_ something that will take you away from me, you _will_ tell me.”

“Yours,” John agreed. “I’ll tell you immediately, Sherlock. I promise. I will never want anyone but you.”

He could feel Sherlock’s smile against his ear briefly, and they stayed like that for a moment, before Sherlock’s mouth disappeared from his ear, and he expected to let go, and gave a gasp as Sherlock bent his head and bit his neck. John gave a high-pitched keening noise, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as sudden desire washed through him. He could feel Sherlock’s satisfied smirk against his neck as he slowly pulled away and licked the now-bruised skin. Like the collar wasn’t proof enough that he was Sherlock’s. Not that he was complaining, of course. Just more proof that Sherlock cared for him. Then, Sherlock was pulling away from him, and he felt cold at the lack of warmth behind him.

“Now, come along John,” Sherlock commanded, opening the door and starting to walk out. “As much as I would like to, we can’t stand here all day.”

John shook himself out of his daze and followed after Sherlock, pausing in the doorway to look around and make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. No. Good. Jogging a little to catch up to Sherlock, he walked a step or two behind – he would never dare to walk in front of Sherlock (and, anyway, he couldn’t match Sherlock’s fast pace). They exited the train with no trouble this time, and John looked around with wide eyes as he followed Sherlock to go rent a car for them. Everything was so … _green_ here. It was so much better than the city, in his opinion anyway. By the expression on Sherlock’s face, he could tell he was eager to just start investigating already. John just hoped that it turned out to be as interesting as Sherlock thought it was.


	2. Dr Franklin & Peppermint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who gave me Kudos and commented~! I'm so happy :) Please, I hope you enjoy this new chapter~

Sherlock had sent John up to go pay for their rooms from the shop keepers of the Inn, while Sherlock himself went about, poking at things. The guy, Garry, was nice, and friendly too. John saw the way Garry's eyes went to his collar, and then raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as John paid for their rooms. Sherlock's gaze heated his back for a few moments as he smiled at Garry politely as he turned away to go get their keys. John could smell meat. Raw meat. And lots of it. He frowned slightly, and glanced at Garry's turned back before shifting over to where they kept their receipts piled on a skewer, and found what he was looking for. He ripped it off and folded it, putting it in his pocket just as Garry turned around, giving him the key. John was confused. Why did a vegetarian restaurant have meat? It just didn't make any sense. Something was definitely off here. He bought some drinks, too, and looked back at Sherlock for a moment. "Is yours a snorer?" the shorter one, Billy, asked, nodding at Sherlock, interrupting John's thoughts, and he realised he'd missed part of the conversation.

John looked back at Sherlock again with a small smile. He looked back at the couple and shook his head. "He's not," he told them, and then gave a small laugh. "The only thing I can really find wrong with him is how much he loves his work, but even that isn't that bad, seeing as he takes me along too."

Bill and Garry smiled at him, and Garry passed him their drinks. "Ta," he said. He turned and found Sherlock seated with some guy, and tilted his head, curious, not jealous because he knew Sherlock loved him and no-one else. That's why he gave John this collar.

Going over to them, he passed Sherlock his drink, who took it with a nod of thanks. The guy looked at John strangely, and John realised he was looking at his collar. He glared at him for a moment, angry that he dared think something bad of the gift Sherlock had gotten for him, before a look from Sherlock made him take a deep breath and drop it. Sherlock didn't mind the guy's weird look, and neither should John. Still, it angered him every time someone tried to put down the precious gift Sherlock had gotten him.

* * *

After Sherlock had gotten the information he wanted from the guy, Sherlock strode off and John went to follow him, but Fletcher stopped him with a hand on his arm. John immediately stepped away from him, not liking anyone but Sherlock touching him. Fletcher didn't seem to notice as he leant forward, into John's personal space, making him uncomfortable. "He hasn't kidnapped you, has 'e?" Fletcher asked.

John took a step back, frowning and shaking his head. "Of course not!" he exclaimed, disgruntled.

Then, Sherlock's hand was on his arm, and he looked up in relief, to see Sherlock glaring at Fletcher. "Mine," Sherlock hissed into his ear, and then started muttering to himself under his breath. "I need to get you a ring," he grumbled, glaring down at John's left hand.

John felt surprise for a moment, before shrugging. He already belonged to Sherlock in so many ways, they were practically married anyway. "Yours forever," he told Sherlock, looking up at him with a smile.

Sherlock looked down at him, and John was vaguely aware that they were at the car they had hired, but the way Sherlock was looking at him was distracting him. He was aware he was being turned around, and he found himself pressed back against the car, Sherlock pressing against his body. "That's right," Sherlock growled, leaning forward and pressing their lips together harshly, nipping hard at John's lower lip until John opened his mouth, and then there was a warm, wet tongue possessively exploring his mouth. "Mine."

And, god, if that didn't turn John on, nothing ever would. His eyes closed, and his mouth was open and pliant under Sherlock's. Sherlock lifted a hand and ran it possessively through John's hair. John hummed, whining softly as Sherlock pulled back. "Later," Sherlock promised, voice deep and eyes dark. "Later I will remind you who you belong to. We have something to do now."

John nodded, enjoying the soreness of his lip. He shivered at the thought of being possessed by Sherlock later tonight, and wiggled his hips, suddenly uncomfortable, and realised that he had got an erection. Annoying. Sherlock smirked, pressing their hips together purposely, before pulling away altogether, making John bite down another whine. He took a deep breath and followed Sherlock into the car.

As Sherlock stuck the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life, John commented, “I didn’t think gay marriage was legal in London.”

Sherlock paused what he was doing and looked over at John, eyes dark. John’s heart beat faster at the look in Sherlock’s eyes as he leant over. He looped a finger through one of the loops on his collar and tugged him across his seat, his breath washing over John’s face. “Do you think that’s going to stop me?” he asked in a low, dangerous tone.

While John knew Sherlock would never hurt him, John feared that he what he had asked was Not Good. He didn’t want to be put on the leash. He didn’t like the leash. He didn’t like upsetting Sherlock, and he didn’t like being bad. He shook his head, eyes wide. “No,” he breathed.

“Why?” Sherlock demanded.

“Because you won’t let anything stop you from getting what you want,” John told him, voice hardly there.

Suddenly, Sherlock smiled, and John was relieved. Did that mean he wasn’t going on the leash? Sherlock’s hand let go of his collar and gently stroked the side of his face, making John smile and lean into his touch slightly, eyes half-closing in pleasure. “That’s right, John,” Sherlock murmured softly, “I will never let _anything_ get in the way of us being together. You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life,” John answered without hesitation, opening his eyes fully to stare into Sherlock’s one honestly.

A slow smirk curled Sherlock’s lips. “Good,” Sherlock said simply as he softly stroked John’s face one last time before pulling away and letting John settle into his seat as Sherlock reversed the car and started driving to wherever Sherlock wanted them to go.

* * *

When John first saw Dr Franklin, John immediately didn’t like him. It wasn’t so much the way he looked, but there was just something. In human form, his nose wasn’t as strong, but his wolf was telling him there was something bad about him. So, when they were going back, the clock racing, John really didn’t want to go in the lift with him, and Sherlock shot him a look and John had no choice but to follow him in. He kept to the corner, behind Sherlock, keeping his gaze focussed on the floor. John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was aware he was doing it, but he had his back to John, shielding him from everyone’s view.  It was nice, to be cared for like this.

Out of the elevator, as he tried to help Sherlock cover up, he was all too aware of Dr Franklin’s presence, which was unwelcome. He was immediately suspicious as Dr Franklin helped them out. John _knew_ he was up to something. Something bad. And John didn’t like it. But he couldn’t tell Sherlock, not until he was sure. After all, he had nothing to go off except a feeling.

Once outside, in the clear, Dr Franklin complimented his blog, and slapped him on the back. He saw Sherlock’s face tense minutely, but John couldn’t really focus on that. He missed a step, his heart beat roaring in his ears as the strangest sensation washed over him. Peppermint. He suddenly recognised what he could smell. It was peppermint. That was bad, really, really bad. Peppermint was the one thing werewolves _weren’t_ immune to. It made them slow and sluggish in their movements. Already, John could feel his brain and muscles powering down. Dr Franklin must have had it on his hands. Whether it was accidental or not, John didn’t know. But that was a very unlikely coincidence.

John forced his muscles to keep on walking through sheer force of will. He had to keep going. He had to at least make it to the car. He wasn’t really aware of what was happening, and what was worse was that Sherlock was focussing on Dr Franklin, his intense gaze not even glancing at John. John was immensely relieved when he left, and as they turned to leave, John stumbled on a step and grabbed onto Sherlock to get his balance back. Sherlock looked down at him in surprise, and then his eyes narrowed, flashing down John’s body before he turned and gripped onto John’s forearms with both hands. “What happened?” he demanded, and it took John a moment to process his words.

“Not sure,” he slurred, his mind almost blanking, black dots dancing around his vision, taunting him, as he tried to stay awake. “Dr Fr’nk’n. Peppermint.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed over his face, and then tightened his grip on John in obvious anger. “Dr Franklin did this to you?” he growled, eyes darting back to look at Dr Franklin’s retreating back.

“Think so,” John mumbled, head dropping forward for a moment before he forced it back up.

Sherlock growled in wordless anger, before turning and wrapping his arms around John’s waist, helping him to the car and buckling John in. He stroked John’s cheek softly. “What can I do?” he asked, voice soft and low with controlled anger.

“Bath,” John mumbled. “W’sh it off.”

Sherlock gave a nod and leant forward, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead. “I’ll take care of you, John,” Sherlock murmured before shutting the door and going round to the driver’s side and getting in, quickly starting up the car and driving off.

John’s head feel back against the seat, and Sherlock glanced over at him, eyes soft and determined. “Sleep, my precious John,” Sherlock commanded softly, and John was all too happy to comply happily closing his eyes and sighing, easily slipping into sleep.

* * *

John drifted into semi-consciousness, aware of warmth wetness around him. He blearily opened his eyes, making a sound of questioning. He was shushed softly, a comforting noise. John’s eyes found Sherlock’s, and he realised slowly that he was in a bath, and that Sherlock was gently rubbing a cloth over his body. John relaxed back into it, feeling safe and loved. He was vaguely aware of being lifted out of the bath, and tried to protest – Sherlock’s clothes would get wet too! Sherlock hushed him once more, being unusually patient with him. He felt a fluffy towel drying him, and then he was being tucked into a bed, a yawn escaping him as he drifted into sleep with a mumbled version of Sherlock’s name.


	3. The Hollow

“Why _not_?” Sherlock snarling was the first thing John heard when he woke up properly, feeling much better and rested, fully in control of his limbs.

“Sherlock,” John murmured, hardly audible, and he didn’t really expect Sherlock to hear, so he wasn’t really surprised when Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him.

“When have I ever cared what the _law_ says, Mycroft?” Sherlock growled, and spat the word ‘law’ out like it was poison in his mouth. John felt a flash of surprise that Sherlock was talking to his brother. “He _harmed_ John, Mycroft! I cannot let that go unpunished.”

“Sherlock?” John asked again, confused. What had happened? His memory was a little slow, still not fully woken up.

Sherlock turned to face him from where he was pacing the room, and John was startled to find his expression murderous and eyes blazing with anger. It smoothed somewhat as they locked onto John, and he went over to John, sitting on the bed beside him and stroked a hand over John’s collar. John tilted his head up to reveal it more for Sherlock, and a faint smile passed over Sherlock’s face, John completely trusting Sherlock in this submissive position. Sherlock ran his fingers lightly over the covers where John’s chest was, and John realised he was still naked, but didn’t care. A scowl passed over Sherlock’s face. “I don’t _care_!” Sherlock growled, looking away from John and closing his eyes, face tight with anger. “Just make sure that no one’s finds it suspicious when he dies.”

And with that, Sherlock hung up, letting an aggravated sigh. He slipped his phone into his pocket and opened his eyes to face John, smiling slightly. “Feeling better?” he asked, stroking his hand up from John’s chest and up his throat, John tilting his head back to make it easier.

“Much,” John said gratefully. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes darkened slightly, his fingertips tracing over John’s jawline softly. “No-one harms what’s mine and gets away with it, John,” he said in a low voice, barely contained anger hid there.

John gave a slight smile, reaching up a hand to place it on top of Sherlock’s, arching his back in a stretch. “I know. I never doubted that, or you,” he told Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him silently for a moment. “You really do trust me with your life, don’t you?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John was slightly taken aback by the question. Did Sherlock doubt what he said every morning? He frowned slightly. “Of course I do,” he said, slightly confused. “You’ll never hurt me.”

Sherlock gave a soft chuckle, and then a sigh. “You really are one of a kind, John Watson. And all mine,” he murmured and leant down before John could reply, stroking up John’s cheek with the tip of his index finger as he pressed his lips lightly to John’s.

When Sherlock pulled back, John hummed softly in happiness, thoroughly enjoying the tender affection he was receiving. “Now, come on. We have to go talk to Henry Knight,” Sherlock said, standing up.

John thought for a moment to protest – his body needed more rest to recover, he was exhausted, peppermint had more than just a physical effect on him, it made his mind tired too. But, as always, he would follow Sherlock. He peeled the sheets off of his naked body and stood, aware that Sherlock was watching him, but he didn’t feel self-conscious in the slightest. He started to pad over to their suitcase, but Sherlock snapped his fingers at him, drawing his attention instantly. “Wolf.” Sherlock commanded simply, and John only hesitated for half a second, wondering how much his body could take, before he transformed.

Sherlock smiled at him, beckoning him, and John trotted obediently to his side. Sherlock scratched behind his ears for a moment. “You’re such a good boy, John,” Sherlock praised, making John wag his tail happily.

* * *

At Henry’s house, Henry was uneasy around John, and John didn’t blame him. He sat by Sherlock’s stool and listened to their conversation. “Peppermint tea?” Henry asked, holding out the box, and John could smell its stench strongly, his ears flattening.

“No, thank you,” Sherlock said smoothly, reaching a hand down to soothe John with a light pat to his head.

“So… What’s the plan?” Henry asked, clapping his hands together and looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock drummed his fingers on John’s head for a moment before saying, “We take you back to the moor,” Henry nodded, looking slightly apprehensive, “and see if anything attacks you.”

Henry blinked for a moment, and John huffed softly, causing Sherlock to tap sharply on his head and John looked up at him apprehensively to see Sherlock looking down at him sternly. John ducked his head, ears flattening. Raising his head for a moment, he licked Sherlock’s hand apologetically, before ducking his head again, feeling as if he had been scolded. Which, really, he had – just in a silent, Sherlock way.

“Uh,” Henry said, hesitant, “Is that really wise?”

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath. “It’s perfectly safe. John here will be able to tell if anything is coming, and he’ll inform me, and he’ll also be able to protect us. Isn’t that right, John?” Sherlock said, looking down at John.

John straightened, glad Sherlock wasn’t angry at him, ears pricked as he nodded eagerly. Whatever Sherlock wanted.

Henry shrugged.

As Sherlock and John were leaving to go get their car, Sherlock slid the leash from his pocket and John eyed it anxiously. Sherlock tugged John close roughly by his collar, and clipped the leash to him. It was a short leash, and gave no slack what-so-ever. Sherlock leant down and hissed so John could hear him, “Do _not_ question me again, John.”

John gave a soft whine, head low. He didn’t like the leash at all. He hadn’t meant to be bad. He wouldn’t do it again. Sherlock tugged the leash upwards, commanding, “Look at me!”

John lifted his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “Next time, be _good_ and this won’t happen,” Sherlock growled, and John nodded, before he was allowed to drop his head again and he slunk along at Sherlock’s side.

* * *

When they got to the Hollow, the sun was setting. Getting out of the car, Sherlock unclipped John’s leash and stuffed it back in his pocket with the command, “Stay close and _do not_ leave my side.”

John did as he was told, not wanting to upset Sherlock further than he already had tonight. He felt as though any kind of torture would hurt less than the emotional hurt he felt. He really didn’t like being bad. He loved Sherlock, and only wanted to please him. The walk to the Hollow was silent and tense. The torches Henry and Sherlock were using hurt John’s night-eyes, and he kept his gaze to the side to avoid looking at them. John thought that he was making Henry unsettled, and he could understand that. After all, he had been traumatised by a so-called hound, and he must be terrified of all big dogs.

Once, Henry tried to engage Sherlock in conversation, and Sherlock asked Henry about Dr Franklin (John shuddered at the name, his tail flicking uneasily), but once Sherlock had extracted the information he wanted, he cut off any more attempts of talking – which made John feel slightly amused) and Henry finally got the hint and fell quiet.

When they reached the top of the Hollow, John stopped for a moment to sniff the air, and stiffened, darting to intercept Sherlock as he started to walk down. There was Bad down there. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew that Sherlock shouldn’t go down there. “What?” Sherlock demanded, and Henry stilled from where he was climbing down, just a few meters in front of where Sherlock was on the hill down.

There was an eerie fog here, wreathing around them, that didn’t feel right to John. He stayed where he was, fur quivering from the boldness of what he was doing. “Is the hound down there?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

John took a moment to sniff the air again before shaking his head. Sherlock scowled down at him, quiet anger coming from him, making John shrink almost unconsciously, but he didn’t want Sherlock to get hurt. “Then get out of my way,” Sherlock said in a low voice, eyes narrowing at him.

John shook his head. He couldn’t let Sherlock go down there!

“Oh my god!” Henry’s suddenly shrill voice broke the stare-off between them, but John didn’t look away from Sherlock as Sherlock looked to where Henry must be pointing, and he paled.

John was still recovering from the peppermint thing, and he couldn’t smell things that were too far away, and as he turned, he saw nothing, and when he turned back, both Henry and Sherlock were retreating quickly. What had they seen?

He quickly raced after them, and Sherlock only briefly glanced at him before carrying on with his quick walking.

“Did you see it?” Henry was asking, looking at Sherlock and seeming to be quite shaken. “You had to have seen it! It was right now!”

Sherlock turned his face to Henry, eyes blazing as he gritted out, “I saw _nothing_.”

Henry fell back a pace, and looked at John, but John just kept walking, trying to keep up with Sherlock’s fast pace.

* * *

Henry took his own car back to his house, and John and Sherlock sat mostly in silence, except when Sherlock would glare at his own hands, which appeared to be shaking, or when Sherlock would start muttering to himself about the hound, and how huge it was, and the red of its eyes. John was worried about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Sherlock go so far into the Hollow.

When they got back to their room, Sherlock stopped him at the door, with a ‘leave me alone, John.’

John stopped, confused. When John made no sign of leaving, Sherlock snapped, “Haven’t you disobeyed me enough for one day, John?”

Hurt, John flattened his ears and retreated, head and tail low as he slunk away. He didn’t understand. Even when he’d first been getting used to being Sherlock’s properly, and he would make mistakes, never once had Sherlock sent him away. He heard the door shut, and transformed into human, frowning as he made his way to the pub. He spotted a girl, and he recognised her. It was Henry’s therapist – Henry had had a picture of her on his fridge.

Saying a silent ‘sorry’ to Sherlock in his head, he made his way over to her and smiled, offering her to buy her some wine. He needed information from her, especially if it would help Sherlock too.


	4. The Meat Slip + Rewards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it sad that my longest chapter is probably only because of the **SEX SCENE** in it? Anyway, thank you for everyone who has read this, and given me kudos for it~ I hope you enjoy this!! :)

John was very annoyed when Dr Franklin stopped Dr Mortimer from telling him if she thought the hound was a figment of Henry’s imagination or not. He held in his wince as Dr Franklin slapped him on the back again, his fingers brushing John’s neck. Bastard. When Dr Franklin, and then Dr Mortimer, left, he stood, feeling starting to feel the effects of the peppermint again, and paid the bill, making his wobbly way to his and Sherlock’s room. When he got to the door, he remembered Sherlock’s harsh words, and instead dug into his pocket and retrieved the meat order slip he stuffed in there, and put it carefully on the ground before he transformed, the energy it took making him stand and pant for a few moments. He grabbed the slip carefully between his teeth and gave a soft whimper by the door, gently nudging the door with his head, black spots dancing around his vision, teasing him. He blinked rapidly, continuing to knock against the door with his head, and they became increasingly further and further apart as he got more tired.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, Sherlock opened the door, and it this point his knocks were minutes apart. John looked up at him, blinking owlishly up at Sherlock. It looked like Sherlock had been resting, if not sleeping. He crouched down in front of John and stared at him. He looked down at the slip in John’s mouth and held his hand out silently, and John dropped it into his hand obediently. Sherlock’s eyes flickered over it, and then he frowned, standing up and gesturing John inside. John wobbled his way in, and Sherlock’s eyes flickered over him and his frown deepened. “What happened?” he demanded.

John didn’t answer, too exhausted from recovering from two amounts of peppermint in one day, and made his way to the bathroom, and laboriously got into the bath, looking up at Sherlock, before he lay down. Sherlock’s eyes softened. “Dr Franklin?” he asked softly, kneeling down by the bath and turning on the taps as John nodded.

“Don’t worry, John,” Sherlock said softly, promise in his voice, “he won’t get away with this. I won’t let him.”

John closed his eyes, content, the motion of Sherlock washing him soothing, so was the sound of his voice as he murmured to John.

Again, John was vaguely aware of being lifted, a faint grunt from Sherlock this time at this at his heavier and sturdier body form, and then he was being dried vigorously, which woke him up a bit, before Sherlock shushed him, and he hadn’t realised he had even made a noise. A yawn escaped him as Sherlock lifted him once more and placed him on the bed. He tried to protest, shaking his head, as Sherlock placed him on the bed – he’d been bad. He’d been on the leash! He didn’t deserve to be on the bed. Sherlock shushed him again, more firmly.

“Don’t,” he said softly, warning in his tone. “You do as I say, and you trust me to make the right choices.”

John immediately stopped protesting, and instead gave a small whine of acknowledgement and thumped his tail once before giving a soft sigh and closing his eyes.

“Good boy,” Sherlock said softly, a smile in his voice, as he gently stroked John’s furry cheek with the back of his hand. “Now, go to sleep, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

John licked his nose and gave a slow nod, immediately slipping into sleep now that he had Sherlock’s permission, his praise making him feel warm inside.

* * *

John could sense a wave of impatience coming off of Sherlock as he woke. As soon as he started to stir, Sherlock sat down on the bed next to him – cross legged, John guessed – and started talking. “The meat. Why is the meat important, John?” he asked.

John opened an eye and stretched, yawning as he changed into human form. “Vegetarian restaurant, Sherlock,” he said softly, opening both eyes to look at Sherlock.

It felt weird, the first thing him saying to Sherlock in the morning not being what he always said. Sherlock made a frustrated noise. “Of course!” he grumbled to himself. “So obvious!”

He reached a hand out and stroked John’s collar with the tips of his fingers, looking as if he didn’t know he was doing it. John tilted his head back, enjoying the affection. Sherlock looked down at him and gave a small smile, leaning down and pressing a kiss to John’s lips, making John hum in pleasure, his mouth immediately opening at the first touch of Sherlock’s tongue. Sherlock teased him for a few moments, just lazily lapping at John’s lower lip, until he whined, arching his back up. Sherlock put a hand lightly under John’s back, and he kept that position, even when Sherlock drew his hand away. When Sherlock pulled away, John breathed the first thing that came to mind, his need for routine and stability kicking in, “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared down at him for a moment, before a smile crossed his face, and he ran his hand down John’s chest, flattening his back against the bed once more. “Oh, John,” he murmured softly, a slight teasing edge to his tone, “Our habits define us, and I must say, yours are very pleasing. Go on then, tell me.”

"I'm yours, Sherlock. I will always be yours. I will always be loyal to you and only you. I will do whatever you want me to, because you will never intentionally place me in a dangerous situation, and you always do what you believe to be right. I will protect you with my life, Sherlock," John told him, feeling relieved to finally say it again. It felt wrong for that to not be the first thing he said in the morning.

Sherlock smiled indulgently down at him, looking very pleased. John liked it when Sherlock was pleased. It was so much better than him being angry at John. Much, much better.

Sherlock shifted on the bed and John caught a whiff of something so strong that his human nose could smell it. Something he was very familiar with. Arousal. Sherlock was aroused, and just the thought of Sherlock being aroused made John aroused, as he knew what usually followed after. His hips shifted ever-so-slightly on the bed, but Sherlock must have caught the movement, because he grinned. Sherlock pulled back the sheets, slowly, his gaze locked on John’s as he revealed John’s almost naked body. He then tossed the sheets to the end of the bed, where they were immediately forgotten, as Sherlock’s gaze travelled down his body. Sherlock grinned as he saw the red pants he was wearing, and looked back up at John as he drew a soft, teasing line down the bulge in his pants, making John give a soft whine, his hips tilting up into his finger, hoping for a firmer press, but Sherlock just drew away slightly so it was just a light touch. Sherlock drew his finger away fully and looked down at John with dark eyes as he drew John’s pants off and chucked them from the bed, leaving John fully exposed to Sherlock’s dark gaze. “Legs apart, John,” Sherlock commanded, voice low and rough, making John shiver.

John eagerly spread his legs, and Sherlock settled between them, shifting so that he was on his knees and ran long fingers down the inside of John’s naked thighs lightly. Goosebumps rippled in their wake, making Sherlock smirk in satisfaction. “Do you want me to _fuck_ you, John?” Sherlock asked softly, his smooth voice saying ‘fuck’ making John shiver with desire, meeting John’s gaze.

“Yes! Yes, please, Sherlock,” John almost whimpered, shifting his hips.

“Good,” Sherlock murmured. “Did you pack the lube?”

Sherlock didn’t like wearing condoms, and John liked it better this way too. It meant there was nothing between them at all. To satisfy John’s doctor side, they had both been tested before they had sex for the first time, and they were both clean (as he was sure Sherlock knew they would be). John nodded his head, eyes flickering as he tried to remember where he had put it. “The very front pocket of our case,” he told Sherlock, feeling a loss as Sherlock gave a nod and got up to get it.

John watched as Sherlock crouched in front of the case and retrieved the lube, exactly where John had said it would be, and placed it in John’s hand while he undressed methodically. John held the lube as he shifted around slightly, making himself in the middle of the bed, and grabbing a pillow to put under his hips (one would end up under there anyway, so it was best to just do it now) while he waited for Sherlock eagerly. Sherlock kneeled between his legs once more, except now he was naked, and that was so much better. Sherlock leant forward and pressed another demanding kiss to John’s lips, his tongue parting John’s lips easily and sliding into his mouth, possessively exploring as he took the lube from John’s hand. John shifted his hips eagerly into Sherlock’s, giving a soft moan at the contact of their hips. He felt Sherlock’s slight smirk against his skin, and gently slid his tongue against Sherlock’s, shivering at the hot wetness of the movement. He heard the distinctive click of the lid of the lube opening and felt a thrill of anticipation run through him.

Sherlock pulled back from his lips for a few moments, staring down at him as John met his gaze. “Keep your gaze on me. Do _not_ look away,” Sherlock ordered, and John nodded. He knew Sherlock liked seeing his expressions during sex, and he liked it, liked that he was so closely watched.

A long, lubed finger slid smoothly into his entrance, and John gave a soft whine of pleasure, eyes fluttering for a moment but fixed back on Sherlock as he bucked down into the finger. No matter how many times they did this, it was always the best experience ever. Nothing could ever match having sex with Sherlock. Sherlock curled his finger perfectly as he thrust it in, so that it lightly grazed his prostate, teasing him. John gave a low moan, bucking into Sherlock’s long finger as it continued to thrust into him, stretching him. Sherlock pulled his finger out, and there was the sound of lube being squirted, and then two fingers were entering him, thrusting a few times before scissoring. John couldn’t help a soft whine as Sherlock pulled his fingers out, feeling empty. Sherlock had a slight smile on his face as he watched John. As Sherlock lubed up his cock, John shifted his hips eagerly on the pillow, watching Sherlock watch him. Sherlock leant over as he lined up with John’s stretched entrance, and kissed John softly, tenderly, as he thrust all the way in smoothly. John sighed happily against Sherlock’s lips, as Sherlock waited for John’s body to adjust.

Sherlock pressed several kisses to John’s lips before licking his way along John’s jaw as he started to thrust, drawing his hips back before thrusting in roughly. John gave a soft keening noise as Sherlock brushed his prostate, his back arching up. His hands came up and wrapped lightly around Sherlock’s neck, fingers tangling in Sherlock’s soft curls, not trying to force him into going faster, merely enjoying the feel of Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock gave a soft hum, dragging his teeth carefully over John’s neck, making John gasp as he arched his back up, making Sherlock groan at the new angle. “Stay. Stay like that,” Sherlock rasped out in a husky voice as he gripped John’s hips as he started to thrust faster.

John happily obliged, even as he back muscles trembled, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s bare, lightly sweat-covered back as Sherlock sucked another mark into his neck, making John moan loudly.

“Do you think you deserve to come, John?” Sherlock asked after he had licked his way up to John’s ear.

John shook his head immediately, quivering slightly with pleasure, “No. I’ve been bad,” he said, struggling slightly with the words.

Sherlock tutted softly. “You’ve been very good, John,” Sherlock purred softly. “You gave me the clue about the meat, you helped me see that Dr Franklin is up to something. These are very important, John, I think they over-rule what you did yesterday,” Sherlock told him, watching as John’s face turned warily hopeful. “I think you deserve to come.”

John gave a big smile. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Sherlock,” John murmured happily, pressing back against Sherlock’s thrusting.

Sherlock hummed softly. There was no sound for a few minutes, except for John’s moans and the slick slapping sound as Sherlock thrust into him. Then, Sherlock spoke in a low, rough, husky voice. “Who do you belong to, John?” he demanded, biting his way along John’s jaw.

“You!” John gasped softly.

“And who am I?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“And you love me, John?” Sherlock demanded more than asked, his gaze boring into John’s.

“Forever,” John replied honestly.

“Till death do us part?”

“No,” John shook his head, then gave a keening whine as Sherlock stopped immediately, and explained. “Death will not stop how I feel about you.”

Sherlock stared down at him for a few seconds, an indescribable expression on his face before he pressed a kiss to John’s lips, and started thrusting again, both of them close to the edge. John gave a low, long groan as Sherlock’s long hand closed around his cock.

“Come for me, John,” Sherlock murmured, his pupils so wide blown that there was only a silver of that beautiful grey-blue around the edges.

John shuddered, his body stilling and tensing as Sherlock’s thumb brushed against the glans on the underside of his cock at the same time that Sherlock hit his prostate as he clamped down on Sherlock, crying out Sherlock’s name loudly as he spurted over Sherlock’s hand and his chest.

Sherlock gave a low groan, and continued to thrust, before he too came, and slumped over John, and hand going up to rest on John’s collar. John enjoyed the weight of Sherlock on him. He loved that, after sex, Sherlock’s speech was minimum and he was very cuddly. John closed his eyes, resting his back back against the bed, his hands going down from Sherlock’s hair, to rub lightly over Sherlock’s back.

After a while, Sherlock shifted so that they were on their sides, still joined, and John noticed that Sherlock’s eyes were closed, and his breathing deep. John gave a small smile, feeling slightly surprised. It wasn’t often that Sherlock fell asleep immediately after. John waited a few moments, just watching Sherlock’s peaceful, relaxed face, before he carefully slid downwards on the bed, Sherlock’s cock slipping from him. Sherlock grumbled softly, his arms grabbing onto John tightly. This time, it was John who shushed him softly, soothingly. Sherlock smiled sleepily, and quickly fell back asleep. John waited a minute, before carefully and slowly extracting himself and slipping off the bed and padding softly into the bathroom (relishing in the feel of his aching butt) and finding a cloth and wetting it with warm water and squeezing it out and cleaning himself up before going back to Sherlock and gently wiping away all evidence of what they had just done. Then, he went back to the bathroom and cleaned the cloth before going back to Sherlock and curling up with him, smiling as one of Sherlock’s hands came up and rested on his collar, a finger slipping under one of the loops and pulling him closer, efficiently wrapping himself tightly around John. John hummed softly and just watched Sherlock sleep drowsily.


	5. DI Gregory Lestrade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is shorter than normal (and it looks even shorter after my last chapter xD)! But the next one should have more action in it than this one! There should be no mistakes in this one (4 pages on word without a single mistake!!), but if you spot any, please point them out, and I'll go back and fix them~

Sherlock woke exactly two hours later, to the minute. John smiled softly down at him, not really able to do much else – Sherlock had rolled them in his sleep (one of the few times John got to remember just how strong Sherlock actually was) so that he was on top of John, his head on John’s chest, their legs tangled together and one of Sherlock hands was on his collar, fingers slipped under the loops and holding on tight while his other was resting on top of John’s wrists. Sherlock grumbled and lifted his head up to look at John, his curls even more messy from sleep. “How long was I asleep?” Sherlock asked in a mumble, flopping his head back down onto John’s chest, yawning. When Sherlock slept, he slept like the dead.

“Two hours,” John announced cheerfully, feeling in a spectacularly good mood.

Sherlock gave a soft groan, before pushing his head against John’s chest. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, my dear?” Sherlock asked, making John’s chest puff slightly in happiness at the praise. “You’re even good to sleep on. Remind me to do this more often,” Sherlock said with another yawn.

“You do,” John said, and Sherlock looked up at him with an eyebrow raised in question. “You do sleep on me, like this, quite a bit actually.”

Sherlock gave a low chuckle. “I’m not surprised. You make such a good bed to sleep on,” Sherlock told him, fingers slipping from the loops on his collar and instead gently tracing it with long fingers.

They lay there in silence for a while, as Sherlock slowly woke up, a luxury for them. There was no need to go to work, or that Lestrade might have a case, or even go to the bathroom (yet). It was nice to be able to wake up slowly and savour the sensation of Sherlock’s warm, naked body on top of his. They didn’t need sheets – John could produce enough warmth for both of them when he wanted to.

After a while, Sherlock started to mutter to himself about the case, and John held back his sigh. Oh well, the peace was nice while it had lasted. “Why hound, John?” Sherlock asked in frustration.

“Hound,” John murmured. “H-ou-n-d,” he sounded out, and Sherlock froze above him, head coming up to look at John intently for a few moments, John wondering what had just clicked in Sherlock’s head.

“That’s it, John!” Sherlock cried. There was a large grin on his face as he got up off of John and the bed, and strode over to their suitcase, seemingly not noticing that he was butt-naked, and rummaged around, producing a pen and notepad.

He scribbled something on there, and then returned to John, showing him the open page on it. It read ‘HOUND’ and John stared at the notepad, wondering what that meant. He frowned slightly and looked back up to Sherlock, tilting his head to the side.

“What if it isn’t a _word_ John? What if it’s individual letters?” Sherlock asked triumphantly as he turned the notepad back to himself and did some more scribbling before showing it back to John.

“You think it’s an acronym?” John asked slowly as his eyes went back to the paper. ‘H.O.U.N.D’ was spelled out for him, and he smiled up at Sherlock.

“Exactly,” Sherlock said, pleased.

He started to stride over to the door, and John’s eyes widened. “Sherlock!” he called out, scrambling off the bed. Sherlock turned back to him, frowning slightly. “You’re nude,” he pointed out.

Sherlock looked down at himself in seeming surprise, and then up at John, giving a small nod of thanks and changed direction to the suitcase, John close behind. They changed together in silence, John aware that Sherlock was watching him dress, and Sherlock aware that John was watching him dress.

Once they were both fully clothed, John darted back to the bed and retrieved the slip of paper with the meat order on it and tucking it into his pocket.

“Lestrade’s been past a few times – I think he was trying to locate our room without being too obvious,” John told Sherlock as he waited by his side, looking up at the taller man.

Sherlock frowned, and then opened the door and strode out, leaving John to shut and lock it before hurrying after Sherlock.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Sherlock demanded as soon as they were within hearing range of Lestrade, halting a few metres away from the DI.

“Oh, nice to see you too,” Lestrade muttered, “I’m on a holiday, would you believe.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Sherlock shot back, frowning slightly.

“Hello John,” Lestrade greeted with a nod, taking off his sunglasses.

“Greg,” John returned. He rather liked Lestrade; he was an easy fellow to get along with.

“I heard you were in the area, what are you up to? Chasing this ‘Hound of Hell’ like on the telly?” Lestrade asked with a teasing smile.

He saw Sherlock frown slightly before it disappeared. “I’m waiting for an explanation, inspector – why are you here?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

“I’ve told you – I’m on holiday,” Lestrade said, some of his cheer vanishing.

“You’re brown as a nut! You’re clearly just back from your holi _days_ ,” Sherlock growled out, John raising an eyebrow.

“Well. Maybe I fancied another one,” Lestrade shot back.

“Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock said with a scowl, turning his head to the side.

“Now, look!” Lestrade protested, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Of course it is. One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my … _handler_ to-to spy on me _incognito_! Is that why you’re calling yourself _Greg_?” Sherlock asked, somewhat indignantly.

John frowned. “That’s his _name_ ,” he pointed out, pointing to Greg.

Sherlock turned to him, suddenly interested. “Is it?”

“Yeah, if you’d ever bothered to find out,” Lestrade grumbled, taking a long sip of his beer. “Look, I’m not your handler. I don’t just do what your brother tells me.”

“Actually, he could be just the man we want, Sherlock,” John said, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned down at him. “Why?”

John smiled and pulled out the meat order paper and holding it out for Greg to read. “A nice, scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls,” he said, watching Sherlock smile slightly – just a twitch at the corner of his lips, but it was enough for John to know that he had made a smart choice – and held Lestrade’s gaze as he dinged on the bell and called “Shop.”

* * *

Outside again, Lestrade grinned at him, “I’m enjoying this!”

John gave a soft chuckle. Sherlock was still inside, doing god-knows-what, and it was nice to have a conversation with Greg by himself.

Lestrade looked around and then leaned close asking, “So, who was that lady you were with last night? I saw you two chatting, she looked awfully pretty.” There was a light teasing note to his voice, and John gave a half-smile.

Then, of course, Sherlock appeared, frowning, and asked sharply, “Lady?”

John looked up, feeling slightly trapped, “Yeah, Louise,” he said, and explained further as Sherlock scowled, “Louise Mortimer, Henry’s –“

Sherlock cut him off, “Henry’s therapist.” He suddenly looked more relaxed, and John felt slightly offended that Sherlock had even the slightest thought that John would cheat on him. “Did you get any information?”

John shook his head regretfully, “I would have told you if I did. Dr Franklin interrupted and scared her away,” he told Sherlock with a scowl of his own.

Lestrade looked between the two of them and raised an eyebrow briefly at John, and John knew he’d be hearing about this later, before Lestrade said, “Well, I’ll go have a word with the local force. Not quite sure what I’d charge this with anyway. It’s nice to get London out of your lungs,” and walked over, grinning back at them.

 Sherlock and John stood there for a few moments, until Sherlock declared suddenly, “I need to go see Dr Stapleton,” and headed off towards their car.

“How do you plan to get in?” John asked with a slight frown. “I doubt they’d believe the ID trick again.”

Sherlock grinned sharply over at him as he pulled out his phone. “With some luck, I don’t think I’ll need to.”

Curious, John watched as Sherlock entered in a number and brought it up to his ear. “Hello, brother dear. How _are_ you?” Sherlock asked, his voice sweet, making John fight down his smirk. Of course he would call his brother.  

John didn’t know how Sherlock planned to bargain with his brother, but he knew Sherlock would not give up until he got what he wanted, so he sat in silence in the car as he listened to Sherlock talk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I skip some scenes from the actual episode, and if you want any future scenes in here, please let me know (like John being trapped in the lab)! I hope you've enjoyed this so far~!!


	6. The Lab + the Hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is late, but whatever~! I hope you guys like it! And thank you to everyone who has read this!

John sat heavily on the stool in the lab, watching Sherlock work, Dr Stapleton standing a metre away. “Are you alright?” she asked, breaking John from his thoughts and as he turned to look at her, Sherlock’s face tightened slightly, hardly noticeable, but noticeable enough for John. “You look a little tense.”

John shrugged, giving her the barest of glances, “Just tired,” he told her. And sore. This chair was uncomfortable and his butt and lower back were aching from Sherlock and his activities mere hours ago.

He shifted slightly on his seat, and John saw Sherlock’s eyes flicker over to him, catching his gaze briefly with a smug expression in his eyes before he was looking back down at his microscope. But, it was enough for John to feel happy.

Dr Stapleton shifted closer, and John glanced at her. Perhaps, once, he might have tried to hit on her, but now the only person he would ever want was Sherlock.

“So… What’s with the collar?” she asked softly, supposedly so Sherlock wouldn’t hear. Sherlock had better hearing than she thought, and this room echoed.

John immediately went on the defensive, his posture straightening subtly, and he noticed Sherlock glance at him. He hated it when people questioned the collar. _His_ collar! The precious gift Sherlock had given him!

“John,” Sherlock warned in a murmur, and John forced himself to relax.       

“It was a gift,” he said, trying to keep the defensiveness from his tone. This was _his_ collar that _Sherlock_ had given him, and anybody who thought badly of it would have to face his wrath.

Dr Stapleton frowned for a moment, before her eyes flickered to Sherlock, and then back to John. “Oh. _Oh_. So, are you two…?” She trailed off questioningly.

“And aren’t _you_ married?” John snapped, feeling relieved as she gave up and then backed away. Better. He didn’t like her being so close to him. The only person he wanted in his personal space was Sherlock.

Suddenly, Sherlock stood and threw something (John had no idea what, but it something like something with glass) and it smashed against the wall, making him duck his head in a flinch.

“It’s perfectly fine!” Sherlock growled in frustration.

“What were you expecting to find?” Dr Stapleton asked, sounding only slightly shocked.

“A drug! It has to be a drug of some kind – a delirium!” Sherlock explained. “But it’s perfectly alright! I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar!”

“Sugar?” John asked in confusion, but Sherlock ignored him as he ran his hands through his curly back hair in a gesture of frustration.

Then, he looked up and pointed at Dr Stapleton, not even glancing at John, “Get out,” he said simply, indicating to the door. “I need to go to my mind palace.”

John simply gave Dr Stapleton a nod and showed her out, answering her questions about Sherlock’s choice of words with a slightly curt tone, and then came straight back.

“Wolf,” Sherlock commanded, and John emptied his pockets before obediently transforming, trotting over to Sherlock and sitting at his feet.

Sherlock sank a hand into his thick fur on his neck and went very, very still, occasionally moving and muttering to himself as he immersed himself in thought. John waited patiently, tail wagging slightly on the floor.

A while later, Sherlock’s hand tightened in his fur, and he looked up at Sherlock to find him with a very pleased expression on his face. John pricked his ears, curious, and Sherlock released his grip on John’s fur and patted his head, standing up. “I’ve got it. We need to go find Dr Stapleton again,” he told John, and then clicked his fingers at John, who got the hint and transformed back into human.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, before stretching out his arm and slipping a finger under one of the loops on John’s collar and tugging him even closer, John obediently following the pull. “You really do love this collar, don’t you?” Sherlock asked in a murmur, meeting John’s gaze.

“Of course I do!” John exclaimed, “You gave it to me.” John reached up his own hand and rested his fingers lightly on his collar. “It means everyone knows I’m yours.”

Sherlock watched him quietly, and then smiled softly, tugging John even closer and pressing a kiss to his lips, just a brief press of lips, before he turned, tugging John along behind him by his collar. He was very touchy-feely today, John noted, but didn’t say anything, instead following along behind, after he snagged his stuff from the table and shoved it in his pockets.

Sherlock glanced behind him at John, and John gave a smile. Sherlock kept a firm grip on his collar, seeming to not want to John to be out of reach – not that John would be anyway. They walked along, and they found Dr Stapleton soon, but before they went up to her, Sherlock turned and tugged John closer, pressing a hard kiss to his lips, making John gave a small keening noise of pleasure. “Mine,” Sherlock murmured against his lips as he pulled away, staring into John’s eyes.

“Forever,” John said softly in response, and Sherlock gave a slight smile, just a twitch at the corners of his lips, but it was enough for John.

“Stay close to me for now,” Sherlock ordered him, and then walked towards Dr Stapleton.

John did as he was told and stayed just a step behind Sherlock, and stuck close to his side as Sherlock spoke to Dr Stapleton.

“We need access to the computer data base,” he told her, fixing a hard stare on her.

“Ah, alright. This way,” she said, gesturing, “but we can’t be seen.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and the silent ‘obvious’ was strong in the air. They followed her, waiting at one of the doors for a guard to pass before she swiped her card and they entered. Sherlock waved a hand towards the door, and John immediately went to keep watch.

There was the sound of tapping keys, and the low murmur of their voices briefly, before Sherlock gave a growl of frustration.

“Sorry,” Dr Stapleton said, “That’s as far as my access goes.”

“Surely there has to be an override,” John protested.

Dr Stapleton wheeled around in her chair to face him. “Yes, but that would be Major Barrymore’s,” Dr Stapleton said, nodding towards the Major’s office.

Sherlock immediately turned and strode over into Major Barrymore’s office, flicking on the light switch. John stayed by the door, keeping a look out for night security.

He half-listened to Sherlock talking to himself, peeking in occasionally to look at Sherlock.

“Mid 1980’s at a guess. Father and son. Barrymore senior. Medals. Distinguished service order?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side to address John.

“At that date? I’d say Falklands Veteran,” John said, before looking out the window in the door.

“Churchill then, much more likely,” Sherlock said, striding from the room.

“That’s the password?” Dr Stapleton asked, a slightly shocked tone to her voice.

“No, of course not. With a man like Barrymore, any first name would do,” Sherlock said, grinning slightly.

John took a step away from the door and looked over Sherlock’s shoulder as he sat down, and felt the anticipation in the room rise as Sherlock began to type.

John gave a slight smile as the access code worked. He had known that Sherlock would be able to figure it out. He was a genius – of course he could figure something so simple out.

As the text popped up, John felt his stomach churn. That was … there was no words to describe the horror that he felt. And then there was the images, and John’s mouth twisted into a slight scowl. That was sick.

“Oh my god,” he heard Dr Stapleton say, and he silently agreed with her.

“Project HOUND,” Sherlock told them, clicking on another photo and making it full screen. “A delirium drug which rendered its victims _incredibly_ suggestive. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to disorientate their enemy. But they shut it down. Hid it away in 1986?”

“But someone’s being doing it again?” John asked. “Carrying on the experiments?”

“But over 20 years ago…” Sherlock murmured to himself, and John could see his eyes flickering over the photo. “A friend? Someone in the back of the photo perhaps? Someone who was old enough to be there in the time of the experiments…” Sherlock trailed off, looking to the side.

Standing, he zoomed in on one of the people. “Maybe someone who has an accent from time spent in America. You remember, John?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded, “Mm.”

“So nice of him to give us his number, let’s arrange a little meeting, shall we?” Sherlock said, his expression going cold.

“Bob Franklin?” Dr Stapleton asked, and John looked closer at the picture before nodding at her. “But he’s just a philologist, chemical warfare.”

“That’s where he started then,” Sherlock said, pulling out Franklin’s number and his phone. “And he’s never lost the certainty, the _obsession_ that the drug could work.”

John stepped away from the computer, with the intent of checking the door, when his phone rang. He frowned and pulled it from his pocket.

“Hello?” he asked.

“You’ve got to find Henry,” a women’s crying voice said from the phone.

John recognised it immediately. “It’s Louise,” he whispered to Sherlock, holding the phone away from him for a moment. Sherlock’s gaze sharpened as John turned away to address Louise again. “Louise, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Henry. He’s gone. You’ve got to find him,” she told him.

“What happened?” John asked with a frown.

“He-he was remembering, and he went for the gun. I’m OK, I’m OK. I don’t what he’ll do.”

John gave a nod. “Alright. Stay there, and we’ll get someone over to you,” he told her and ended the call.

“Henry?” Sherlock asked, and John nodded.

“He attacked her,” he informed Sherlock.

“Then there’s only one place he’ll go; back to where it all started,” Sherlock said, putting his phone to his ear. “Lestrade. Get to the Hollow. Dewers Hollow! And bring a gun,” Sherlock snapped.

 

* * *

Sherlock looked briefly at John as Lestrade ran into the Hollow. John really didn’t like being down here. There was Bad here. The fog was eerie, and John shifted slightly, flicking his tail and blinking as he returned Sherlock’s stare. He knew Sherlock knew he didn’t like it here. Holding his gaze, Sherlock beckoned him with a pat on the leg from where he had been waiting half-way down the hill, not wanting Henry to try and shoot him. He stood and shook out his fur, before trotting to Sherlock’s side, noticing Henry glancing at him.

“H-how do you know _he_ isn’t the Hound?” Henry asked nervously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a hand going to John’s collar. “Because he’s _mine_ and we live in London,” Sherlock told him.

Henry gave a nod, and Lestrade frowned at John. “Who’s that?” Lestrade asked, and John twitched an ear in irritation.

“That’s not important,” he told Lestrade smoothly.

John’s ears pricked, and he turned his head to follow the sound. Paws. John immediately darted in front of Sherlock and crouched, fur spiking as he gave a growl, head turning to track the sound of the answering growl.

He heard Lestrade take a step back. “What is that?” he cried, pointing his gun at it.

“The Hound,” Sherlock told them, and John could hear the frown in his voice. “Henry! Henry it’s just an ordinary dog!”

The Hound gave a bark, aimed at John, and John growled in response.

“John,” Sherlock said, and John flicked his tail in acknowledgement.

The Hound started coming down the hill, and sniffed the air, and John started forward, hackles raised, eyes locked on the Hound. Nobody would ever hurt his Sherlock. He wouldn’t let them – especially not this dumb dog – no matter how big it seemed right now.

“Quickly,” Sherlock snapped impatiently.

John’s ear flicked and he bared his teeth before leaping. He had wanted to draw this out, but if Sherlock wanted it just to be dead quickly, he would kill it quickly. He tackled it to the ground and growled lowly as it struggled beneath him. Its claws raked harmlessly through his thick fur, not touching his skin. He jerked his head up in a moment of true fear as it jerked its head up, teeth nearly touching his collar. Not his collar! Growling, having had enough of this, he jerked his head forward and sank his teeth into its neck. It jerked, claws flailing and he felt them catch on something, but shook his head and the body under him went limp. Staying for another moment, he let go, and realised there was an odd breeze on his neck.

Neck? His collar! NO! Looking around, he quickly located his collar, and as the adrenaline passed, he felt tired and sad. There was a rip in it, where the Hound’s claws must have caught. Picking it up gently, he slunk back to Sherlock, head low and tail dragging on the ground.

Sherlock frowned down at him, and John gently placed the collar at his feet, giving a soft whine. Sherlock crouched down at picked it up, before his expression cleared, and he stroked John’s cheek softly as John looked sadly up at him.

“It just killed a dog, and it’s sad because its _collar_ broke?” Lestrade exclaimed disbelievingly, and John turned around with a low growl.

Sherlock sighed, and John turned back to face him, whimpering softly as he nosed Sherlock’s cheek.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock murmured softly to him, scratching behind John’s ear. “We’ll get you a new one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is the second last chapter of this story! There will be another story after this one - but it will be post-Reichenbach.


	7. Epilogue

John whined softly, feeling overwhelmingly sad at the loss of his collar. His neck felt all wrong. There wasn’t meant to be a breeze there – that was where the comforting warmth of his collar was meant to go! He stayed crouched on the ground, pressing his nose gently into his collar, and heard Sherlock give a sigh.

“Enough! You can grieve later, John,” Sherlock commanded, but not without kindness in his voice, “we have work to do.”

John sat up, but picked up his collar and handed it to Sherlock – he didn’t want it to get lost. Sherlock tucked it into his pocket and stood. John took a deep breath, and turned, ears pricked, as he heard footsteps, and a strange noise. It sounded like … someone breathing through a mask? He recognised that smell. Peppermint. John’s hackles raised at the same time that he gave a growl and backed away. Sherlock placed a hand on his head and raced off in the direction John was looking.

He could hear Sherlock muttering from here, but doubted the others would be able to. Lestrade looked at Sherlock for a moment, before cautiously making his way over to John. He crouched in front on him, and John stared at him steadily. Lestrade reached out after a moment and John bared his teeth in a wordless growl. He didn’t want anyone touching him but Sherlock. Lestrade raised his eyebrows and retreated back again.

When Sherlock reappeared, forcing Dr Franklin in front of him, exclaiming, “It’s the fog! A chemical minefield. Pressure pads in the ground, dosing you up every time you came back.”

Sherlock looked pleased with himself, and Henry went a little bit mad, yelling at Dr Franklin and trying to attack him. Lestrade pulled him off of the Dr, and John shot in front of Henry, stopping him from doing it again. The noise assaulted his sensitive ears, so he flattened them, dulling the noise. He was focussed on Henry, trusting Sherlock to keep Dr Franklin away from him.

“Don’t touch him,” Sherlock’s snarl made him prick an ear. It was a loud and deadly sound, one he hadn’t heard that often. “You’ll pay for what you did to him.”

The dog gave a whine, and then a growl, and everyone’s attention was snatched, and in that moment, Dr Franklin made his escape. John was torn for a moment. Go after the dumb mutt that had broken his collar, or Dr Franklin, who had drugged him with peppermint?

“The dog, John!” Sherlock snapped, and John immediately raced after the dog that was trying to make its escape.

He pounced on it and captured its head in his jaws, twisting viciously, instantly breaking its neck. Quick and relatively painless. Then, he turned and raced after Dr Franklin, after a nod from Sherlock, and heard Sherlock demanding that Henry look at the dog.

John could run for days at this pace. There was no way that Dr Franklin would be able to outrun him. Nobody could outrun a wolf, much less a werewolf. He was quickly gaining on the scientist, when he clambered over the wire fence, John stopping abruptly. The minefield. John couldn’t risk going in there.

He heard the sounds of the others behind him, and turned swiftly. Dr Franklin was bound to step on one, and the explosion would be big and he didn’t want Sherlock to be harmed. Sherlock, of course, was closest behind him, and John leaped at him at the same time that he heard the click of one of the mines. He tackled Sherlock to the ground, growling at the others.

“What are you doing, John?” Sherlock demanded.

Instead of answering, John curled his body over Sherlock’s in a protective way, closing his eyes. He would rather be harmed than let Sherlock get hurt. “Get down!” Sherlock yelled, a few seconds before the explosion went off, blasting John’s thick fur with heat and dirt.

He stayed crouched over Sherlock, waiting until he could hear again, and then got off of Sherlock, nosing him anxiously to see if he was hurt.

“Good boy, John,” Sherlock murmured, scratching behind his ear. “I’m alright. You did a good job.”

John’s tail wagged happily at the praise. The others had fallen to the ground, and John stuck close to Sherlock’s side as they went and checked on them. Everyone was OK. That was good.

* * *

The next morning, John was having a _meat_ breakfast, and enjoying it thoroughly. It was perfectly cooked, and he was content as he ate, looking up with a smile as Sherlock joined him. Sherlock took his seat beside him, their thighs lightly pressing together, sipping at his coffee as he set John’s down in front of him.

“So they didn’t get it _put down_ then,” Sherlock said.

John shrugged. “Maybe they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it,” John pointed out, cutting off a piece of sausage and popping it into his mouth.

“I see,” Sherlock said, after a slight pause.

John smiled. “No, you don’t.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, and took another sip of his tea before asking, “Sentiment?”

John nodded. “Sentiment,” he agreed, raising his cup to take a sip.

When Sherlock stood a little while later, John looked up at him. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Sherlock looked down at him and placed his empty cup on the table and pressed a kiss to John’s cheek in a rare gesture of sweetness. “I’m going to see a man about a dog,” he told him, and then strode off, leaving John to finish his breakfast.

John smiled, content, and finished his breakfast quickly, stretching his arms out. This had been a good case. Sherlock was pleased with it, at any rate, and getting out into the country had been good. The only bad part about this case was getting drugged with peppermint, and his collar breaking. Sighing, he lifted his hand to gently trace his fingers over the sensitive skin where his collar used to be. The sooner they got a new one, the happier he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright~ This is the last chapter for 'The Two Hounds in the Hollow'. I know its short, and late, but I got a mind block and couldn't think of what else to write. Sorry about that! Thank you to everyone who has commented and given Kudos for this work! I love all of you~! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it! I'm really eager to get started on the post Reichenbach one!


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